Holding the child in her arms, she stared at the squalling little pink life-form, and felt on the verge of tears herself.
“You ought to be happy, Ms. Zheng,” said the smiling delivery doctor beside her.
Sobbing, she said, “He’s crying so sadly, it’s like he knows how hard the future will be!”
The doctors and nurses exchanged a glance and a mysterious smile, and then pushed her bed to the window and drew back the curtain so she could look outside. Bright sunlight streamed in, and she saw tall buildings standing silently beneath a blue sky, cars passing by in a continuous stream, and a few scattered people walking in the plaza outside the main hospital building. The city was as it had been the day before. Nothing seemed different. She shot a confused look at the doctor.
“The world’s dry run has begun,” the doctor said.
“What? We’re in the children’s world already?”
“That’s right. The dry run has been in progress for over four hours.”
Zheng Chen’s first reaction was to look up at the overhead lights, something she later learned was a common response upon learning of the dry run, as if lights were a unique sign that the world was normal. The lights were shining steadily. She had passed the previous night, the eve of the dry run, mired in nightmares, dreaming of her city ablaze, of screaming in the central square with no one else in sight, as if she were the sole person left in the city. But before her eyes now was a peaceful children’s world.
“Look at our city, Ms. Zheng. Harmonious as easy-listening music,” said a child nurse next to her.
The doctor said, “Your choice about the children’s world was absolutely correct. We were too pessimistic. It looks like the kids will run the world well. Who knows, maybe even better than us. Your baby will never have the hardships you imagine. He’ll grow up fortunate and happy. Can’t you rest easy now that you’ve seen the city outside?”
Zheng Chen watched the calm city for a long while, and listened to the soft sounds that came in like a sort of music. Not easy listening, but a splendid requiem, and as she listened the tears began to flow. The baby in her arms stopped crying and opened its tiny gorgeous eyes for the first time to look in wonder at the strange world. She felt her whole heart melt and evaporate and disappear, and the total weight of her entire life transfer itself into the small being in her arms.
There was little for the small group of national leaders to do late at night in the NIT. Work in all industrial sectors had been handled by the various central ministries, and most of their time was spent observing the dry run.
“Like I said, we’ll do it better!” Huahua said excitedly after update after update appeared in the dry run reports on the big screen.
Specs shook his head dismissively. “We haven’t done anything. You’ve got blind optimism, but you should realize that the adults are still here. We’re not on suspended rails yet.”
It was a moment before Huahua got the reference, and turned to look at Xiaomeng sitting beside him.
“Life is difficult when children are all that’s left in a family, let alone an entire country,” she said, and looked out through the now-transparent walls at Beijing’s gleaming lights that surrounded them.
They all looked up through the transparent ceiling at the clusters of white lights in the night sky strong enough to outline the scattered clouds in silver, and cast human shadows onto the floor of the hall with every flash. The flashes had been frequent the past few days. These, they knew, were nuclear bombs detonating thousands of miles away in space.
Before the handover, all nuclear powers had come out and declared the total destruction of their nuclear weapons, so as to leave a clean world behind for their children. Most of the bombs had been detonated in space, although some had been shot into orbit around the sun, where they continued to be discovered and detonated in the Supernova Era.
Watching the flashes, the premier said, “The supernova taught humanity to value life.”
“Children have an innate love of peace,” someone added. “War will die out in their world.”
The president said, “You know, it’s a complete mistake to call the supernova the Dead Star. From a dispassionate standpoint, all of the key elements that make up our world come from an exploding star. The iron and silicon that form our planet and the carbon that is the basis of life were ejected into the cosmos by a supernova in some unimaginably distant past. And even if our supernova will bring tremendous death to the Earth, it may bring forth in some other part of the universe life even more stunning than this. The supernova is no dead star. It is the true creator! Humanity is lucky, for if the rays had been just a little stronger, no one would be left on Earth. Or even worse, only babies under the age of two! Perhaps it’s a lucky star for us. In just a short while only one-point-five billion people will be left on Earth, and many of the problems that previously threatened humanity will be resolved overnight. The damaged environment will slowly recover. Industry and agriculture, even at a third of their former scale, will easily satisfy all the children’s needs, enough for them to live in a world of unimaginable plenty. With no need for them to race around for subsistence, they will have more time for science and art, to build a better society. When a second supernova strikes Earth, you’ll no doubt have learned how to block its rays…”
Huahua cut in, “By then we’ll be able to trigger a supernova and harness its energy to leave the galaxy!”
His words drew applause. Pleased, the president said, “You kids are always a step ahead of us when it comes to imaging the future. The time we’ve been able to spend with you has been most fascinating. Comrades, the future is bright. Let’s take this attitude with us into the final moments.”
THE EPOCH CLOCK
At last it came time for final farewells, when everyone over the age of thirteen gathered at their final assembly points to go off to meet death. Most of the people of the Common Era left quietly without their children’s knowledge, leaving them intent on their work. Later historians believed that this was an entirely correct decision, since few people possessed the emotional strength to endure the biggest eternal farewell in history. If they had met their children one last time, human society might have utterly collapsed.
The first to leave were the most seriously ill, or those in nonessential positions. They left by various means of transport, some that made many trips, others that never returned.
Final assembly points, as they were known, were situated in relatively remote areas, a large number of them in uninhabited deserts, the poles, and even the ocean floor. Since the global population was plummeting by four-fifths, huge regions of land on Earth were now untrodden wilderness, and it was only many years later that all of the enormous tombs were discovered.
Behold, I tell you a mystery. We shall not all fall asleep, but we will all be changed, in an instant, in the blink of an eye, at the last trumpet. For the trumpet will sound, the dead will be raised incorruptible, and we shall be changed. For that which is corruptible must clothe itself with incorruptibility, and that which is mortal must clothe itself with immortality…. Where, O death, is your victory? Where, O death, is your sting? Amen.
On the television, the pope in a long crimson gown was reading from 1 Corinthians 15, addressing the entire world in a final prayer for the Common Era.
“Time to go,” Zheng Chen’s husband said softly as he bent down to pick up the sleeping infant from the bed. Zheng Chen silently stood up and picked up a travel bag holding things for the kid, and then went to turn off the TV. She caught a glimpse of the UN secretary general’s farewell address to the Common Era: